


Murderer Mystery

by Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Detective!Steve, F/M, M/M, Meat Cute, Multi, a lot of off-screen murder, allusion to a threesome, bucky is a supportive bf, cop!steve, detective!sam, implied previous stucky, natasha is a badass in any universe, sam doesn't have time for steve's shit, serial killer!natasha, serial!killer bucky, tumblr text post - Freeform, writer!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction/pseuds/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction
Summary: Based off ofa text post from Tumblr.Bucky worked at a butcher shop in Queens; a real fancy one that sold cuts of meat with prices that made your eyes nearly bug out of your skull.You wrote murder mystery novels. You were just beginning a new book (one set in New York), and Bucky must have looked closely at your page because the first question out of his mouth was:“If you were- metaphorically speaking- to kill someone, how would you do it?”You took a sip of your wine and thought about it for a moment. “Needle. Shot of air between the toes. It’ll look like a heart attack.”If he was surprised by how ready you were with your answer, he didn’t show it beyond a slight widening of his eyes and an intake of breath. He smiled, in fact, and nodded after a beat. “Good answer.”In which you unknowingly date a serial killer (Bucky Barnes) and his former love interest (now a police detective named Steve Rogers) thinks you're the killer because of your books.





	Murderer Mystery

##   

[Originally posted by thosekidswhohuntmonsters](https://tmblr.co/ZyVV5h2WbgJWf)

You’d been skeptical about trying online dating again after the last few disastrous attempts. There’d been the one with the nice job and atrocious personality, the other one that didn’t say a word to you the whole night, and the most recent one that had literally stalked you (you’d gotten a restraining order for that particular piece of work).

But your friend had assured you that this site was different. It used your internet searches along with questions about yourself to match you with someone.

When a handsome brunet showed up right on time and sat down across the table from you, you thought that, perhaps, your friend had been right for once.

* * *

Bucky worked at a butcher shop in Queens; a real fancy one that sold cuts of meat with prices that made your eyes nearly bug out of your skull.

You wrote murder mystery novels. You were just beginning a new book (one set in New York), and Bucky must have looked closely at your page because the first question out of his mouth was:

“If you were- metaphorically speaking- to kill someone, how would you do it?”

You took a sip of your wine and thought about it for a moment. “Needle. Shot of air between the toes. It’ll look like a heart attack.”

If he was surprised by how ready you were with your answer, he didn’t show it beyond a slight widening of his eyes and an intake of breath. He smiled, in fact, and nodded after a beat. “Good answer.”

* * *

Things between you and Bucky progressed smoothly and quickly. Within a few months you’d moved in together (New York was expensive and you were helplessly in love and life was short). Bucky was an immense help in your writing. Animals and people had different anatomy, but Bucky had also been in the army. He knew a lot about how people died. Another person might have been unnerved, but you were mostly just relieved. Google could only do so much.

You were chewing on your pencil, deep frown creasing your brow as you glowered at your laptop screen.

“Hey Babe?” you asked your boyfriend from your spot on the couch.

His head poked out of the kitchen, blue eyes locking onto you instantly, concerned etched into his face. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t look up from your screen. “How long would it take a person to die if you were to potentially stab them the guts?”

He frowned and tilted his head side to side, considering. “Anywhere from two to thirty minutes.”

You looked up from your computer and beamed at him. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He blushed ever so slightly and smiled back. “So I’ve been told.”

You turned back to your laptop and began typing away. “Are you inviting Natasha over for dinner? I want to thank her for that stain removal tip. It was a life saver.” She was Bucky’s terrifying best friend, but a killer self defense instructor that had taught you how to choke a man out with your thighs.

Bucky had already returned to the kitchen, but the apartment was small enough that you had no trouble hearing him. “Of course, Doll. I never mind having her around.”

* * *

Bucky worked late sometimes and you worried about him. New York wasn’t the safest of cities. The butcher shop wasn’t always staffed well and, as the owner, he often put in extra hours. He came home smelling like blood and death, but it was just another part of your life and you’d long gotten used to it.

* * *

You watched as Bucky’s eyes darted back and forth across the page, reading what you’d written so far.

When he finally looked up his gaze was clouded over, staring at some point over your shoulder.

“I’m not really sure if it’ll actually work…” you said, biting your lip nervously. It was a central part of the plot to have the character killed off this way and if it wasn’t practical or even possible you’d have a lot of rewriting to do, and you’d already written so much that it’d set you back weeks.

Bucky’s gaze refocused on you and he smiled. “I’ll run it by the guys at work and see what the consensus is. Have a good day, love,” he said as he handed you back the laptop and kissed you on the forehead.

You smiled up at him, smitten. “You too, Buck. Be safe.”

He winked at you as he shrugged his coat on and opened the front door. “Always am, Beautiful.”

* * *

He came home late again, but you were so engrossed in your writing that you didn’t notice he was back until he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind and placed a kiss to the crown of your head. As usual he smelled like blood, but you didn’t even flinch and tilted your head up so  you could see him.

He smiled down at you. “Survey says you _can_ kill someone like that. You’re doing great, baby.”

* * *

The book was published on the anniversary of your and Bucky’s first date. There was a lot of sparkling wine.

* * *

“Don’t tell me you’re reading that trash again. It’s not even realistic,” Steve said, giving Sam an unimpressed look.

Sam glanced up from the novel, eyebrows raised challengingly. “Hey, Man. I don’t judge you for listening to music from the 40′s; you don’t get to look down your nose at me for reading murder mystery novels. ‘Sides, this one is scary accurate. Reminds me of a few cases we had, actually. Wonder if the author is from the area,” he mused, lips tilting down in a frown.

Steve turned as much as he could in the car seat. “How accurate?” he asked with a frown.

Sam smirked. “Oh, so now you want in on this action? Nah, man. Buy your own copy or wait until I’m finished,” Sam said, sticking his nose back into the book before Steve could argue.

Steve sighed and went back to watching for their target.

* * *

He bought a copy after his shift ended.

* * *

It was accurate. Too accurate, in fact. The murders in the book were almost a carbon copy of murders he’d encountered in the last year.

It was also full of details that hadn’t been released to the general public.

So either the writer had a mole in the precinct, or the writer was the murderer.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Sam. We need to investigate this woman. There are way too many similarities for this to be pure coincidence.”

Sam shook his head at his partner. “Man, I know it was a good book, but you’re reading too much into this. It was just a story.”

Steve’s jaw clenched dangerously. “I know I’m right.”

Sam looked heavenward and ran a hand over his face. “Lord save me from this damn white boy…” he muttered under his breath. “Look, man. You’re my partner, but you’re on thin ice with Chief Fury. You can’t afford to go chasing after some poor little writer. You don’t even know if she lives in New York.”

Steve looked annoyed that Sam had brought up his spotty track record with the Police Chief. They didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things and Steve had gotten into more than his fair share of trouble over the years. “She does. I checked.”

Sam groaned. “Man, you looked into her already?”

Steve glared at his friend, not backing down. “Yup. And I’m going to stake her place out. Are you in or are you out?”

Sam threw his hands up in the air. “Nah, man. You’re not dragging me in on this one,” he said, annoyed. His glare softened a bit. “I know I can’t stop you. Just go out there, realize she’s not a murderer, and get your ass back here before I can’t cover for you anymore, got it?”

Steve smiled at his partner and friend and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the best,” he said, grabbing his gun, keys, badge, and throwing his jacket on before he made a beeline for the door.

“I expect to be paid in donuts! The nice kind from the bakery on 448th! With the sprinkles and jelly filling!” he called at Steve’s retreating back.

Steve held his hand up, thumb raised, then disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Eight hours into the stakeout and Steve hadn’t seen heads or tails of his suspected perp.

The lights in the apartment were on, but no one matching the picture he had exited or entered the building.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone knocked on the passenger side window.

His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw who was standing there.

Steve hastily scrambled out of the car, nearly tripping himself when the seat belt got caught on the tip of his shoe, much to the amusement of the tall brunet man watching him, a slight curve to his lips.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, shocked.

Bucky smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Evening, Captain.”

Steve looked a little sheepish. “Just detective now, Sergeant,” he corrected quietly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and looked Steve up and down, lips twisting up in a smirk that had Steve remembering that night in the desert- hot breath and a hotter body pressed up against his, moans stifled into sweaty skin, a frantic race to finish before they were discovered.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as though he knew exactly where Steve’s mind had gone. “Just Bucky, now. Haven’t been Sergeant Barnes for a while.”

Steve frowned and took a few steps around the car, closer to Bucky, but froze when the brunet took a few steps backwards. “I tried to find out what had happened to you after-” his mouth snapped closed. He didn’t want Bucky to relive that horrible ambush. “They stonewalled me, though. The brass wouldn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know if you survived.”

Bucky wasn’t smiling at all now. In fact, he looked like he wanted to run away. “I know, Rogers. But a lot’s changed since then. I thought it’d just be best if I stayed away.”

Steve looked as though he’d been struck. “You don’t have to do that, B-”

The ringtone on Bucky’s phone drowned out whatever Steve had been about to say next, Michael Jackson’s _Smooth Criminal_ blaring out of the tinny speakers.

“Hey, Baby,” Bucky said, tone lighter than it had been just moment before, though his face was still stoic as he glanced up at Steve and away again.

Steve knew his face had fallen at those two simple words. So a lot _had_ changed.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be up in a few. Ran into an old friend outside s’all,” Bucky explained to the person on the phone. He frowned a little, confused. “What? In the window?” he asked, then glanced up at the apartment building behind Steve.

Steve blanched when he looked at the person standing at the window, smiling down at Bucky. You had the curtains pulled aside and were waving at the two of them. Steve knew that face; your picture was in a file on the passenger seat, after all. Steve plastered a smile to his face and waved back, but his mind was racing. Bucky was living with a _murderer._

“Just give me a few to say goodbye and I’ll be up, alright? You can start pulling ingredients for dinner out if you want.” Steve could see your mouth moving and whatever you said next made Bucky huff out a laugh. “Yeah, alright. I love you too.”

You gave them one last wave and disappeared further into the house, curtains swaying for a few seconds before they settled again.

Bucky shoved his phone back in his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I-”

“Bucky, you can’t go back in there,” Steve said urgently the moment he’d turned back around.

Bucky looked thunderous, all thoughts of letting Steve down easy thrown out of his mind. “Look, Detective Rogers,” he hissed venomously. “Just because we had something going-”

Steve waved his arms urgently, cutting across Bucky’s tirade. “No no no! This isn’t about us. This is about you. Living with a murderer!” Steve said frantically.

That made Bucky freeze, eyes wide. His shoulders sagged as he stared at Steve, bewildered. “What?”

Steve looked harried as he yanked the door to his car open and rummaged around for a moment. He hit his head on the door frame on his way back out, but resurfaced with a exultant “Aha!” that made Bucky jump. “See! It’s all in here. The book she wrote. They’re all real murders, Buck. And not just any murders! Some of them were very wealthy individuals, scientists, military officials. So high profile the FBI took them over. Most of the details were never released, but I was on a more than a few of them. There are things in this book that the general public shouldn’t know. Yet _she_ does,” Steve said, eyes growing wilder by the second. Bucky had to believe him. He was in danger!

Bucky stared at him for a few moments, completely dumbstruck, before he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his long hair. “Look, Rogers-”

Steve knew at once Bucky hadn’t believed him and he practically vaulted over the hood to get closer to Bucky. “It’s all in here, Bucky. Just read it! Please! You need to get out of that house.”

Bucky glared at the blond as he got closer and didn’t take the book, which Steve held out between them. “I’ve read the book, Steve. My girlfriend wrote it, after all. I’d be a shitstain if I hadn’t. Now get lost. If you harass us like this again I’m calling your captain.” He made to brush past Steve, but Steve caught his arm.

It was cold and unyielding, taking Steve by surprise. A glance downward revealed a prosthetic that had been hidden by a glove and his sleeve up until that point. “What hap-”

“Oh. Did I… interrupt something?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to something behind Steve and Steve dropped Bucky’s arm like a hot potato. Bucky smiled, though it was a little strained. “Hey, Baby. What are you doing down here?”

You smiled at them both, but you looked just a little confused. “Well, you don’t bring people over often so I was really curious about this mystery friend of yours,” you said, turning your bright smile Steve.

Steve’s skin crawled, but he smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you, miss. I’m Detective Steven Rogers.”

“Oh! That’s very impressive, Detective Rogers. Thank you for your hard work!” you said cheerfully. Steve was saved from having to answer because you spotted the book clutched tightly in his hands. “That’s my book!” you said, practically vibrating out of your skin in excitement. “Did you like it?” you asked, big eyes turned up at Steve.

Steve shifted from foot to foot nervously. “Yes. It’s, uh- very detailed and realistic.”

You beamed at him. “That’s high praise indeed, coming from a professional detective! Are you working or would you like to come up for dinner? We have enough if you want to join us.”

Steve could feel Bucky glaring at the back of his head, but this was his in. If he was invited he wouldn’t need a search warrant. “That would be lovely! It would be great to catch up with Bucky. Thank you, (Y/N).”

* * *

_**Natasha** _

**What? I’m busy.**

_**Pick me up a little something from the store on 139th?  
** _

**You sure?** _**  
** _

_**Yeah. My old pal Detective Rogers stopped by and cleaned the fridge out. I’ll pay you back, just make it quick.** _

**Alright, fine. But you owe me one.**

_**You’re the best.** _

**I know.**

Bucky deleted the messages and looked up at you and Steve, talking on the couch about your book. He seemed to be trying to pry any secrets out of you that he could, but he was getting nowhere, of course.

After all, you hadn’t been the one to kill those people.

Steve had always been a stubborn shit, though, and Bucky knew he wouldn’t back off until Natasha had finished giving that prick of a human being (a corrupt businessman who laundered money for the bastards that kidnapped and tortured him) a page 139 special.

Which meant Bucky had to keep Steve here.

All night.

Let the games begin.

* * *

Steve’s head pounded. He remembered drinking wine. A lot of it. He’d needed to stay as long as possible to gather as much information as he could without a warrant, and Bucky kept refilling his glass as quickly as he had drained it.

It took him a second to realize why he was awake; his phone was ringing. He groped blindly for it, slamming the accept call button and mashing it to his ear.

“Whuzzit?” Steve slurred.

An arm wrapped around his waist and Steve’s eyes snapped open, a small noise of surprise leaving his lips.

This wasn’t his bed.

This wasn’t his _house._

He turned his head to look behind him; you were plastered to his back and Bucky’s right arm was around both of you.

“Hey man, you alright? Don’t tell me you were up all night investigating that poor little writer chick.” Sam’s voice was loud in his sensitive ears and Steve quickly turned the volume down.

A quick check beneath the blankets revealed that he was, indeed, completely naked.

Oh god, he’d had sex with his ex and a murderer.

At the same time.

Oh shit.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve whispered frantically as he attempted to extricate himself from the octopus-like hold of you and Bucky.

“Well that’s bullshit because you’re already twenty minutes late. Shit day to be late, too. We got another body in; this one’s just like one of the others from that book.”

Steve stilled halfway out of bed, single leg thrown out of the blankets, a look of surprise on his face. “When did the victim die?”

Sam’s voice was muffled for a few beats as he talked to someone else in the precinct. “It came in early this morning. Seems like he died some time last night.”

Steve turned his head and looked over his shoulder at you and Bucky. “You’re sure?”

“Well I ain’t no coroner, but it was Hela on staff last night. She doesn’t make mistakes. We don’t call her the goddess of death for nothin’,” Sam said.

Steve tried to remember if (Y/N) had left at any point last night but only came back with debauched memories that had him blushing down to his chest. “Alright. Thanks for letting me know, Sam. Tell Fury I won’t be in today? I’m sick.”

Sam was clearly humoring him. “Yeah, alright Mr. Never-Been-Sick-Once-In-Five-Years. I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Steve ended the call at the same moment the noise from all the talking made you stir. You fumbled blindly for Steve until you eventually found him, fingers closing around his forearm. “C‘mere, Detective,” you muttered sleepily. “Ain’t done with you,” you whispered.

He laid back down easily, smiling down at you. Movement behind you caught his attention and he looked over your shoulder into a pair of grey-blue eyes. “Ever’thing okay, pal?” Bucky murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Steve nodded and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair. “Yeah, Buck. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky closed his eyes, relaxing at Steve’s touch. “You gonna be here when we wake up?” you muttered, face so close to his chest he could feel your breath ghosting against his skin.

Steve smiled at both of you. “Wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere else.”

Bucky smiled, eyes still closed. “Yer damn right.”


End file.
